


enchanted to meet you.

by dylaesthetics



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Drunk confessions, Existential Crisis, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Malira, Minor Scallison - Freeform, Moving In Together, Mutual Pining, Partying, Sharing a Bed, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Stydia, like a LOT of flirting, new girl spoilers and references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29345151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dylaesthetics/pseuds/dylaesthetics
Summary: “You’re unbelievable,” Stiles scoffed. “Pretend I never said anything to you back there, please.”Lydia pulled a face, “Even that I’m hot?”“Stop talking.”“Am I your type?”“Lydia, stop.”“It’s a simple yes or no question.”“If annoying is my type, you’re definitely it.”_OR as lydia worries about her future, stiles is her shoulder of support
Relationships: Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	enchanted to meet you.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stydia24r](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=stydia24r).



> content warning: alcohol, vomiting
> 
> spoiler warning: new girl season two

Stiles never truly believed Scott when he’d claimed to have fallen in love with Allison the very first time their eyes met. Movies never convinced him either. For so long, Stiles imagined that loving someone is something that evolves over time, over every moment spent in the excruciating silence between you and someone who you might love. While it may be true for someone else, Stiles encountered the first kind the very second his eyes met hers.

* * *

“I know you have a girlfriend now but does that  _ really  _ mean I have to be friends with her? And friends with  _ her  _ friends?”

Stiles slammed his lacrosse locker shut, hugging his Higher Maths book to his chest. He glanced over at Scott, stood frozen beside him with a hint of irritation in his eyes.

“Are you really not seeing what I’m seeing?” asked Scott. “Her friend is a girl. A  _ girl _ , Stiles. When’s the last time you talked to a girl, not to mention practically went on a double-date with one?”

“I talk to a lot of girls!” Stiles’ lips pouted as the two of them strode outside the locker room and up the stairs to the main college campus, passing chattering students and shouting coaches.

Scott rolled his eyes, “Giving a girl a pen at a seminar does not qualify as talking.”

“It worked for you!”

As the growing silence notified them of the start of a seminar, they reached Scott’s next class. Scott stalled by the doorway as his coursemates squeezed in between them.

“Stiles, just  _ promise  _ you’ll be there,” said Scott earnestly. “And don’t be late.”

Stiles considered his friend’s offer again in his head. Perhaps meeting Allison’s friend wasn’t such a bad idea. Scott had been somewhat right - he could use some practice talking to girls.

“I’ll even come early if it’s that important to you,” said Stiles before darting away to his own seminar.

* * *

At half an hour to midnight, Stiles stood in front of the bar they’d chosen for their late-night ‘double-date’. Instead of going straight into the overwhelmingly crowded bar, Stiles marched towards the entrance of an empty one across the street. Inside the dark-lit room was only a bartender, a girl not much older than him, dusting the counter and humming along to a rock ballad playing from the speakers. As Stiles took a seat the farthest from her, she eyed him suspiciously. With a fresh-shaved chin and pulled-back hair, Stiles figured he didn’t pass as his real age.

Every once in a while, Stiles picked up the menu and scanned its listed drinks until putting it back down on the counter. The bartender stared at him expectantly, occasionally rolling her eyes, but Stiles ignored her.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked after Stiles pushed the menu aside the fifth time, approaching him with the cloth in her hand.

“Not yet.”

The girl’s eyes darkened as she threw the cloth on the register, “Look, my shift is over soon. It’d be great if you could order so I could get out of this stupid uniform.” She waved her hand at her buttoned suit fit tight to her shoulders and matching black beret.

“Fine,” said Stiles, flashing his ID. The bartender glanced at it and winced as her eyes scanned his first name. “I’ll have the strongest of whatever’s the easiest to make.”

“Shots?”

Stiles nodded, pulling his phone out to check for any new messages from Scott as the bartender poured pure vodka into three shot glasses. Without hesitation, Stiles necked down the first.

“So, what are you doing at a bar alone at almost midnight?” she asked curiously.

“Preparing to meet this girl who I’m going to practice how to talk to girls with.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow, “What’s the case?”

Stiles sighed, unsure whether bar-talk was what he needed while his insides churned at the thought of the approaching midnight. Perhaps he did need just that, however.

“My friend got a girlfriend and it is apparently my best friend’s duty to get along with his girl and her friends. So we’re meeting for drinks at the bar next door and I’m supposed to get all cosy with the girlfriend’s friend.”

The bartender swung around suddenly, deciding that polishing up already washed glasses was the most urgent matter in the room. When she turned back, Stiles noticed she was holding back a grin. “Have you met her before?”

Stiles shook his head, “I don’t even know her name or how she looks like. My friend said she’s my type, though, and I trust his judgment some of the time.”

“So she’s a stranger,” the bartender cocked her head. “ _ I’m _ a stranger. Practice on me.”

“What do I say?”

“Start with your name. Ask about her day. The normal.”

“Okay,” said Stiles, shuffling in the uncomfortable bar chair as he downed the second shot. He cleared his burning throat, “Hey, uh, I’m Stiles, the guy you’re forced to sit next to tonight. How are things? I hope this isn’t awkward.”

“That was just depressing,” she squinted her eyes painfully. “Now all she’ll be thinking about was that you don’t want to be sitting next to her. Keep it simple.”

Stiles thought for a moment before clearing his throat once again and pulling out his hand, “Hey, I’m Stiles, Scott’s friend. How’s it going?”

“I’m Lydia,” revealed the bartender, shaking Stiles’ hand mildly. “Everything’s fine but if I’m being honest, I’m only here because my friend asked me to come. I don’t usually do this.”

“I’m the same way,” Stiles smiled, connecting his eyes with Lydia’s to get more into the role and spotting the amusement in them. “Do you want to pretend this is normal with me? We could get drunk to clear the air.”

Stiles didn’t realise their hands were still connected until Lydia dropped hers on the counter, letting go of the act, “Borderline alcoholic but not that bad. Maybe I’d even continue talking to you.”

They both let out a small laugh, Stiles’ more anxious than Lydia’s. “Who says she’ll be saying the same thing you did, though?” asked Stiles, worry creeping into his eyes. “And what do I do if she’s really hot? I don’t know how to talk to hot people.”

“You don’t think I’m hot?”

“No, that’s not what I-” Stiles panicked, shaking his head violently. He scanned Lydia; even in the horrible uniform, she was his type. “You’re hot, alright. But it’s different. We’re not on a date.”

Lydia seemed pleased with the answer, smiling down at her feet, “Pretend it’s not a date then. Pretend you’re talking to a hot bartender.”

“I regret saying that now,” Stiles rolled his eyes before downing the last shot. His phone buzzed in his pocket, reminding him about the time. “Anyway, I have to go now. Thanks for this, Lydia. And sorry for making you end your shift like this.” Stiles pushed more cash than necessary into her hand, getting down from the high chair.

“No, that’s fine. It was quite  _ illuminating _ ,” claimed Lydia, trying to restrain from grinning once again. “I think you might get along with that girl just fine.”

“Thanks. Uh, see you again sometime, maybe?” said Stiles, although he doubted he would; he was never in this part of Boston anyway. Lydia muttered something under her nose as Stiles shut the bar door behind him, his skin meeting the cool late September air. Determinately, Stiles walked the few dozen steps towards the bar across the street, anticipating its warm yet busy welcome.

Inside, Stiles squeezed through groups of students, some of which he’d seen once or twice in the college hallways, until finding Allison and Scott cuddled up in a booth farthest from the entrance. No one else but the couple occupied the table.

“She’ll be here in a minute. Something unexpected at work kept her late,” Allison told Scott, looking at him over her phone.

“Hey,” called Stiles, startling the pair. “Sorry I’m late, I went to a bar for some pre-drinks and totally lost all sense of time.”

“That’s fine, we’re still waiting on Allison’s friend,” said Scott, scooting to the side to let Stiles sit in the booth.

For the following twenty minutes, Stiles stared at his trembling fingers, listening to Scott and Allison almost shout to hear each other over the blasting music and chatter of drunk students. The longer they waited on Allison’s friend, the more anxiety bottled up inside Stiles, who tried to ignore it by focusing on his buzzing mind.

When Stiles was about to stand up to get a drink, Allison paused in the middle of her sentence, pointing at someone outside their booth, “There’s Lydia!”

“Lydia?” Stiles repeated, his eyebrows furrowing.

He followed where Allison was pointing at with his eyes, landing on a strawberry blonde girl making her way towards them through the crowd, walking as if she owned the place. She was holding a purse to her chest, flattening her black dress with her other hand. By losing the beret and suit, Lydia looked almost unrecognisable. It wasn’t until she met eyes with Stiles and pressed her lips together to restrain from smiling, exposing her dimples, that Stiles fully realised who she was.

Allison raised to her feet, greeting Lydia with a hug and chuckling something into her ear as Stiles stared at the newcomer with widening eyes. By the time Allison returned to her seat, Stiles was frozen in his. So many thoughts were rushing through his mind, he didn’t realise Lydia was asking him to scoot closer to Scott so she could sit down beside him.

“Nice to see you again, Scott,” Stiles heard Lydia say as if she was speaking from another room rather than inches from his ear. “You, too, Stiles,” she said quietly, nudging his shoulder. All of the sudden, Stiles escaped his trance, shrugging off the initial shock.

Scott’s eyes narrowed, “Do you guys know each other?”

“Not really, I think he’s in Higher Maths with me, though,” said Lydia, but Stiles couldn’t tell if she’d been honest. Surely, his eyes would’ve caught someone as captivating as her even in the hall filled with hundreds of students. Scott eyed Lydia curiously but quickly moved on to asking them about drinks. Allison offered to help him bring them over and just like that, it was only Lydia and Stiles in the booth. Without hesitation, Stiles turned to Lydia, who seemed unbothered, checking her painted nails.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stiles almost shouted. Lydia turned her head down, trying to hold back from laughing. “No, seriously,  _ why  _ didn’t you tell me?”

“You should’ve seen your face,” she looked up at him, her eyelids halfway shut from smiling. “That’s why.”

Stiles shook his head violently, “I can’t believe this. The things I told you...”

“Look, Stiles,” she cut him off. “Now we’ve skipped the awkward meeting and we can just move on to drinks. You should thank me.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Stiles scoffed. “Pretend I never said anything to you back there, please.”

Lydia pulled a face, “Even that I’m hot?” 

“Stop talking.”

“ _ Am  _ I your type?”

“Lydia, stop.”

“It’s a simple yes or no question.”

“If annoying is my type, you’re definitely it.”

Lydia seemed satisfied with that, grinning her way through the silence until Scott and Allison reappeared carrying four drinks. Stiles took his and downed it almost immediately, receiving questioning glances from the couple. Lydia followed his example, putting her empty glass down with a thud after.

A few more drinks in, Stiles was too occupied with trying to stay awake on the comfortable cushions of the booth to even think about Lydia. Apart from gossiping about their coursemates and complaining about the amount of college work they need to catch up with, Stiles didn’t talk as much as he normally would.

In some sense, Lydia had been right. He would act a thousand times more awkwardly if he hadn’t already talked to her at the bar. If they became friends, he could even laugh about their first encounter like Lydia one day. Throughout the night, he would stare at her as she held her stomach laughing or hummed along to the songs playing from the speakers that she recognised. The moment she’d catch his stare, he’d look the other way.

When it was time to call the Taxi, Stiles felt sudden disappointment hearing that Lydia shared an apartment with Allison across the city from him.

“Shotgun!” called Allison when their Taxi pulled up on the side of the street. She swayed on her way towards the door as the driver opened it from the inside. Scott, Stiles and Lydia hopped in the backseat, waving goodbye to the bar as if it was their friend.

“We should do this again,” Lydia exclaimed, bouncing up and down in her seat, accidentally elbowing Stiles.

“Lydia, settle down, I’m too drunk for this,” said Stiles when she hit him again. For a second, her smile dropped but quickly enough she went back to normal. 

“Stiles, I study in the day and work in the night, let me have this one,” Lydia cried out. “This is the first time I’ve got drunk at a bar I don’t work at in months.”

“If you stop hitting me, I promise I’ll go out with you again.”

Lydia tilted her head, considering his offer, “Deal.”

When the Taxi arrived at Lydia and Allison’s stop and the girls hopped out, Scott turned to Stiles at once, “You totally like her!”

“Who?”

“Lydia, of course,” Scott glared at him. “You couldn’t stop looking at her.”

“Because it was strange not seeing her in that horrible uniform,” Stiles defended himself even if it wasn’t entirely true.

Scott raised an eyebrow, “What uniform?”

Stiles froze with his mouth half-open. He figured there was no point in lying anymore, “I met her before I came here, she worked at that bar.  _ I'm _ the one who kept her late. I practised talking to girls with her without knowing who she was while she knew the  _ whole  _ time.”

Scott gaped at him, “I… I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Guess how I feel.”

For the rest of the ride, Scott didn’t bring Lydia up again, instead, he gazed at the city lights outside the window, each little neon sign making both of them wonder just how alive the city is even at the approaching sunrise. In their hometown, the streets were as dark as they were quiet.

By the time the driver pulled up to their apartment building, Stiles was almost sober - he carried himself up the stairs without the help of the railings and his head felt heavy from exhaust rather than the number of shots he’d downed. Scott and Stiles tiptoed to their rooms, stopping to look at each other before sneaking in through the doors.

“You like her, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

* * *

What once was a promise to have another night out quickly turned into weekends at dorm parties and hungover Sunday mornings in front of the TV for the four friends. More often than not, Stiles chose to study in a corner of Lydia’s bar rather than the library. Something about its gin-scented cushions and bewitching warmth from the candles on the table lured him in the otherwise depressingly empty bar. Sometimes Stiles would follow Lydia to the bar straight after their Higher Maths seminar, which they, indeed, attended together. By the time Lydia changed into her uniform, Stiles had usually settled down in his favourite spot, waving at her once she’d turned up behind the counter. As much as Lydia’s presence distracted him from his work, he liked being around her.

By Stiles’ third coffee this Monday afternoon, he was so invested in his dissertation that he failed to notice the grunts of frustration coming from the bar. Only when Lydia smashed a glass by accident - the shatter followed by swearing - did Stiles remember where he was.

“I’ve figured it out,” said Lydia, sitting opposite of Stiles and throwing her beret on the table. Without looking away from his laptop, Stiles raised an eyebrow. “No one comes here because just  _ seeing  _ the uniforms from the display repels them.”

Stiles chuckled, looking up at Lydia, “You only figured that out  _ now _ ?”

Lydia pinched her lips, not finding him very amusing.

Stiles leaned back against the cushion, forcing his full attention on Lydia, “Tell the manager he needs to get rid of them. You’ve worked here since you started college. He should respect your opinion by now.”

“But willing to change something means I see a future here,” Lydia declared, placing her chin on her palms. “I don’t want to stay here. I’m almost twenty-two and I haven’t even started working on something that could get me the Fields Medal.”

“You’ve still got eighteen years, Lydia,” Stiles reminded.

Lydia shook her head, “They only throw the event every four years.”

Stiles sighed loudly, looking back at his laptop. Having lost all his inspiration, he closed his essay and opened Facebook in a new browser.

“Then quit,” Stiles uttered, scrolling through MIT group’s newest posts and wincing at ones obviously made by clueless first-years.

“Quit?”

“You hate everything about this job. Quit,” Stiles urged, squinting at a poster in the group that caught his attention.  _ Putnam Mathematical Competition _ …  _ annual  _ _ mathematics competition _ _ for undergraduate college students...  _ _ held at MIT this December...$25,000 winning prize and scholarships... _

“But…”

Without letting Lydia finish, Stiles turned his laptop to her, displaying the poster. “They’re looking for three MIT students that could compete this year. The deadline’s this Friday,” Stiles exclaimed, his eyes flashing in excitement while Lydia frowned with her gaze fixed on the screen. “You know, if you won, you wouldn’t even need a job.”

Lydia looked away from the screen, crossing her arms, “Stiles, this is one of the biggest Math contests in the world. Thousands of people apply. I could  _ never  _ win.”

Stiles gaped at her, “Lydia, you’re probably the smartest MIT undergrad. You’re the smartest person  _ I _ ’ve ever known.”

“You’ve only known me a month.”

“Lydia, just apply!” Stiles cried out, making Lydia jump. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Lydia kept her arms crossed, staring at Stiles grimly without ever blinking. Stiles stared back, watching a vein pulse in her forehead. Eventually, Lydia broke their eye contact, plucking at the beret with her nails anxiously.

“You know, some Putnam Fellows have gone on to become Fields-Medalists,” Stiles said carefully, expecting Lydia to get angry at him. Instead, she grew a small smile.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

Lydia moved the laptop close enough for a bright rectangle to dance in her eyes, illuminating the green in them, “I’ll apply.”

* * *

To celebrate Lydia making it into MIT’s three-piece team for Putnam, Stiles gathered their friends in the girls’ apartment on a stormy November evening. As the wind whistled through the holes in the living room’s windows, Stiles sipped from a glass of rum-coke with his arm lazily resting on the sofa cushion behind Lydia’s back, her hair tickling his skin each time Lydia threw her head back laughing. Beside Lydia sat Malia and Kira, two girls from their year, not really paying attention to the rest, their ring-covered fingers interlaced. On the couch opposite of them, Scott lied on Allison’s lap, occasionally getting kicked in the stomach by a very annoyed Isaac - Scott and Stiles’ neighbour.

“So you’re quitting your job?” asked Scott, gaping at Lydia as best as he could from his position.

“Only if my team wins,” reminded Lydia. “One of my teammates won it last year and the other scored second the year before so our expectations are quite high.”

“Not to mention you’re the smartest in our year,” said Allison, winking.

Lydia shook her head, “I’m not that smart.”

“Lydia, I’ve known you my entire life,” Allison raised an eyebrow. “You’re a genius.”

“Yeah, you’re practically…” Scott paused, looking up at Allison for guidance. “Well, I don’t know any famous mathematicians but my point remains - you’re going to win.”

Lydia shifted uncomfortably, tightening the grip around her glass so that her knuckles turned snow-white. Eventually, her fingers started trembling so hard, the drink splashed on Stiles’ jeans. As Lydia apologised in a whisper, he ditched his own drink and put his hands over hers, slowly removing her fingers from the glass one by one until he was holding it in his hand. He pretended to ignore the heat rising in his chest at her touch. Stiles put her glass on the living room table, clearing his throat.

“Anyone want a refill?” Stiles offered, looking around the room. No one, not even Lydia glanced his way. He got to his feet anyway, crossing the room to get to the kitchen. As Stiles stepped over the door threshold, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Bathroom talk, now,” said Scott, putting his arm back to his side.

In Scott and Stiles’ dictionary, ‘bathroom talk’ could mean either of two things - a secret conversation to avoid the ears of people they would gossip about or an important family/flatmate debate. Fearing either, Stiles followed Scott inside the room to their right, farther from the action.

“What is it?” asked Stiles, shutting the door behind them and hopping on top of the washing machine, while Scott pressed his back against the wall, biting his lip nervously.

“Lydia winning would mean the bar’s looking for a new bartender,” Scott stated, avoiding Stiles’ gaze. “Do you think they’d replace her with a trustworthy friend without any bartending experience?”

Stiles blinked in surprise, “What?  _ You  _ want to work there?”

“Maybe.”

Stiles exhaled in relief; he’d expected something more life-changing, something he’d spend the next five nights overthinking as he struggled to face his dreams. This wouldn’t change much.

“I thought you didn’t want to work while you’re studying,” Stiles realised. Scott continued looking anywhere but at him.

“Having a girlfriend is very expensive, Stiles. You wouldn’t know, of course,” Scott added, growing a smirk.

With his suspicions rising, Stiles’ forehead wrinkled, “What could be so expensive about it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Scott started pacing around the tight space, eventually stopping in front of Stiles and finally connecting their eyes. “Rent for a nicer place.”

“Rent?” Stiles’ voice raised in shock. “You’re moving out?”

Scott didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Stiles’ eyes flickered from side to side, trying to process Scott’s implication, “Hold on, are you moving in with Allison?”

Scott beamed, “That’s the plan.”

“That’s… That’s big, Scott,” Stiles uttered with his eyes wide. “Also something you should tell your broke roommate  _ before _ your suitcases are all packed up,” he added, pinching his lips together.

“Lydia would take my room, of course,” said Scott casually.

Stiles gaped at him, suddenly aware of the rising heartbeat drumming against his chest, “Lydia?”

“It would make sense. She’d lose a roommate too.”

Stiles whistled in disbelief, “Scott, this is the Lydia I’m in  _ love  _ with we’re talking about.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Stiles shut his eyelids in regret; this was  _ not  _ information that he’d even allowed himself to process yet, not to mention reveal it to his best friend.

Scott’s eyes lit up, “You  _ do  _ love her. I  _ knew  _ it, I knew it! Allison owes me twenty bucks, she thought it’d take you until at least Christmas to admit it out loud.”

Stiles scoffed, “You’re placing bets about my miserable love life now? Very high school of you, Scott.”

“We’re still the same two benched losers in our hearts, man,” Scott placed his hand on Stiles’ back, squeezing his shoulder. “We always will be, even if we’re no longer a room away from each other.”

Before Stiles could open his mouth, a knock on the bathroom door interrupted them. Stiles jumped down from the washing machine and followed Scott out of the door. On the other side, Isaac squinted at them in confusion but said nothing.

“I can’t believe you’re moving out. For two years we’ve lived together,” said Stiles wistfully, walking back to the living room. “Who am I supposed to annoy into binging  _ Star Wars _ with me monthly now?”

“Your best candidate’s right there,” Scott waved his hand in the direction of the sofa but quickly put it to his side. Stiles glanced at where Lydia was sitting minutes ago, only she no longer occupied the seat. “Oh, well, I don’t know where she went.”

“I’ll go look.”

With the rush from telling Scott about his feelings for Lydia, Stiles stalled in the living room, watching his friends deep in conversation. ‘What if Lydia knew too? What if she didn’t want him to be looking for her?’ said a paranoid voice in his head.

‘No,’ said another. ‘She’s your friend. If she didn’t want you around, she would say so.’ So Stiles tiptoed towards the shut door of Lydia’s room, knocking once before slipping inside. 

Stiles had never been in her room in the night. Unlike in the day, her blinds were pulled up and the chatter in the living room was drowned out by the thundering sky flashing in Lydia’s window and other, muffled voices came from someplace Stiles couldn’t identify. Under the purple fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, Lydia lied in her bed with her legs crossed, the hood of her sweater tied tight around her face and a laptop she was boring her eyes into lay beside her.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked with his back pressed against her door. Lydia didn’t look up, too occupied with the happenings on the screen.

“Rewatching  _ New Girl _ ,” she said in a croaky voice. “This is the episode where Nick and Jess kiss for the first time.”

Stiles shook his head, “I mean, why aren’t you with the others?”

“I don’t like the attention,” replied Lydia. “It’s fine, though. You can go back,” she added with a hint of uncertainty in her voice. As Lydia started playing with the laces of her hoodie, Stiles approached the bed.

“Can I join you instead?”

Lydia shrugged, “As you please.”

She patted the empty space on the mattress beside her, not bothering to scoot farther to the side and allowing Stiles little to no room to stretch out; not that he minded his shoulder pressed against Lydia’s.

“I haven’t seen this,” Stiles realised, shifting his attention to a group of people chugging beers on the screen. “What’s happening?”

“They’re playing  _ True American _ , it’s a drinking game the people in the loft invented.”

“What are the rules?”

“You’re not supposed to ask that,” said Lydia with a glare. Stiles’ nose wrinkled in confusion as he watched Lydia’s eyes light up. “Ah, there’s Nick and Jess. They’re about to be told to kiss in the wardrobe as part of the game.”

They watched the flustered pair hide in the wardrobe as the others chanted ‘Kiss!’ over and over behind the wall. Every time they tried to kiss, one of them leaned away before their lips would touch.

Stiles shuffled in his seat, suddenly feeling awkward to be watching this with Lydia. His curiosity outgrew the worry, though, “What’s the deal with them?”

“Nick fell in love with Jess the first time he saw her but Jess…” Lydia looked down at her hands, forming her lips into a pout. “Well, she isn’t sure about her feelings just yet. They get together in a few episodes, though.”

“How?”

“Just watch with me, it’s perfect.”

They watched the rest of the episode in silence apart from Lydia cheering when Nick surprised Jess by kissing her after they said goodnight. ‘Am I like Nick, fallen in love with the girl from the very beginning?’ Stiles wondered, playing out their first meeting in his head. Even before he knew Lydia was the bartender, he was captivated by her, captivated enough to even question if leaving the bar was the right choice for a lingering moment.

They finished the season well into the night, so late that not one window shone brightly from the apartment building across the street and no hushed voices came from the living room. At one point Lydia had started using Stiles’ shoulder as a pillow, occasionally shaking his entire body as she chuckled at the curious mishaps in the sitcom. Stiles pretended his head didn’t buzz from the smell of her shampoo mixed with the uncontrollable longing of having Lydia when she was this close yet completely unattainable.

As Lydia dozed off, her head falling off his shoulder, Stiles carefully let it land on her pillow, shut the laptop and put it on her nightstand. He looked down at her, sitting on the edge of her bed. Otherwise appearing peaceful with her palms holding her cheek, Lydia was breathing a little too heavily to be asleep just yet and her eyelids didn’t flutter as she dreamed.

“Are you asleep?” whispered Stiles.

“Yes.”

Stiles chuckled, “Does this mean I can tell you a secret and you won’t remember it the next morning?”

“Yes,” said Lydia, later than before.

“Scott and Allison will be moving in together.”

“I know.”

“You know?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. “What are you, uh, going to do?”

Lydia sighed, letting her eyelids flutter open lazily as she searched for Stiles, “I’ll be moving out too. I’m tired of this apartment anyway.”

“You have a place in mind?”

“That depends,” she shrugged as she sat up and scooted to the other side of the bed. “Does your landlord allow pets?”

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat but Lydia was staring at him too intently to let him react in any other way.

“Pets? She’s okay with pets.”

Lydia straightened up, growing a smile, “I’ve wanted to adopt a kitten for ages but Allison’s allergic. You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”

“No, I love-”

“Great, we should get a kitten then.”

Stiles stared back at her with his mouth slightly open, trying to process her words. Even though they’d spent the majority of the past two months together, living with her would be different.

“You want to move in together?” he finally asked.

Lydia nodded slowly, “It would make sense.”

* * *

When Stiles woke up the following morning, he couldn’t understand why and where he was at first. With one look around the sun-lit room, the memories from the night before came rushing back - the gathering, bathroom talk and binge-watching. Lydia had fallen asleep right after their last conversation, snuggling up to his side obliviously. With no way to move without waking her up, Stiles had decided to stay over and soon enough, the enchanting warmth radiating from Lydia put him to sleep, too.

As for why he woke up, two voices sounding from another room cleared it. The door to Lydia’s room was left slightly open and quickly enough Stiles realised Lydia and Allison were talking in the living room. Typically he wouldn’t eavesdrop on someone’s conversation but as he heard Allison say his name, he couldn’t help but hold his breath to listen more carefully.

“...and now you’re moving in with him. You didn’t have to but you are. Is there anything more to it? Are you into him, too?”

“Into him? Oh, no. Certainly not,” said Lydia quickly.

The room turned silent for a moment. Stiles imagined Allison’s typical glare as his heart was pounding against his ribs.

“Really? You’re not pulling a Lydia?”

“Pulling a Lydia?”

Another pause.

“You know, ignoring your feelings until they eventually go away.”

“I don’t do that!” Lydia protested, raising her voice. “Fine, I do it  _ sometimes _ . But not this time. I’m not interested in Stiles, I never will be.”

At the mention of his name, Stiles borrowed a pillow from the side Lydia slept on and covered his ears with it. He no longer wanted to listen in on their conversation but they were speaking louder now.

“Tell him that, then. Don’t lead him on,” Allison advised. “And I mean no more three-in-the-morning walks or calling him the moment you get home from meeting him. And definitely no more waking up to find yourself  _ cuddling  _ him.”

“He’s my  _ friend _ . That’s what friends do.”

To Stiles’ delight, Lydia and Allison moved on to a conversation about the Putnam competition. He stared at Lydia’s ceiling - the fairy lights that no longer emitted the colour purple, instead bore the boring old white.

Stiles was aware of two things. One - Lydia didn’t like him. Two - because of number one, he had to find a way to stop liking her too. He couldn’t tell which one to blame for the growing ache in his chest.

As the conversation in the other room ceased, Stiles tangled himself in the covers and shut his eyes, pretending to sleep. In moments, he heard the door open wider and then click shut.

“Wake up,” called Lydia softly, poking his uncovered shoulder. “College’s calling.”

Without making any sound or shifting his eyes to anywhere near Lydia, Stiles arose from her bed and flattened his shirt. As Lydia rummaged through her wardrobe, saying something about taking a shower, Stiles sneaked out of her room and started gathering his belongings from around the living room. He waited until Lydia disappeared in the bathroom, holding a pile of clothes, and heard the water running to head for the exit door. As he put his hand on the handle, Allison spotted him from the kitchen, “Hey, where are you headed? Don’t you guys have a class together?”

“I have to stop at my place on my way there,” Stiles lied, avoiding her eyes. “Tell Lydia I’ll see her around.”

“Stiles, you okay?”

But Stiles had already slammed the door behind him shut. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean to be angry either. Lydia had every right to like or not like whoever she wanted and Stiles was fine with that. However, he wasn’t fine with the way she’d said it like his feelings meant nothing to her.

* * *

For the following month, Stiles didn’t see Lydia much, in fact, he wasn’t sure if he’d seen her outside the seminars they had together. Sometimes Lydia would stare at him when she thought he was focusing on the professor’s monologue, the same lingering question lingering in the air between them but never said out loud - what changed? A part of him wished she’d finally let it out but even if she did, he wouldn’t know how to answer it. Burdening her with a love confession seemed a little too excessive.

One month Stiles spent avoiding Lydia’s eyes, afraid that the second they’d meet, a wave of love would flush over him. Not that it didn’t anyway. No matter how hard he tried to get over her, he didn’t succeed. In fact, something about the tension between them made him want her more.

“I can’t believe it’s already December,” said Lydia as they stood beside the locked door of their seminar hall, their backs pressed against the wall.

Stiles whistled, “Christmas is just around the corner, I know.”

“I mean, the competition is this Saturday. This Saturday!” Lydia exclaimed, her eyes widening with fear. “No more nights out, I’ll be working and revising only.”

To be absolutely honest, he’d talked to Lydia so little that he’d quite forgotten about Putnam, the competition he assumed she’d been preparing for restlessly for the past month. Now the recently formed dark circles under her eyes made sense.

“How’s work, anyway?” asked Stiles, realising he was in the dark with every detail of her life for that matter.

Lydia smiled, “Since the other bar’s renovating across the street, we’ve stolen half of their customers. Especially around the holiday season, they tip great. If I’m to quit, Scott and Allison might actually afford something nicer than the junk they’ve been considering on Craigslist.”

Stiles nodded along, recalling some of the apartments Scott had shown him that didn’t even have a sink. They let the student chatter surround them for a moment. The hallways emptied as some professors let their students in.

“Stiles, I was thinking…” Lydia paused as if preparing herself for something. “I already talked to Scott but I wanted your opinion.”

“On what?”

Lydia looked down at her feet, “Should I just move in with you already?” Before Stiles could react, she continued hastily, “Scott sleeps at our place most nights anyway. They can take mine and Allison’s flat for the time being.”

To Stiles’ delight, the door to their seminar hall cracked open and the pair was pushed towards it by the force of the anxious crowd. Stiles used this to avoid an answer while Lydia pouted in frustration.

They settled down in their usual seats at the back, waving hello to Malia and Kira three rows down. Lydia looked at Stiles expectantly as he pulled out his books but didn’t utter a word.

As the seminar began, Stiles used up all of his strength to pay attention to the professor but his thoughts kept slipping away, considering Lydia’s offer. For minutes, he didn’t even notice a paper note Lydia had passed him.

He unfolded it curiously, checking if the professor was looking his way. Inside Lydia had scribbled three words.

> _ flatmates? _
> 
> _ □ yes _
> 
> _ □ no _

Stiles noticed Lydia glancing at him once again, tapping her fingers against her desk nervously. Stiles picked up his pen, holding it tighter than he ever had before, hanging the tip over the piece of paper. Lydia looked away.

‘This is a  _ really  _ bad idea,’ said a voice in his head.

‘You’re both busy anyway, you wouldn’t see much of each other,’ said another, more sensible one.

Stiles hid the paper from Lydia’s eyes as he wrote down his answer, folded it twice and returned it to her desk. Instantly, Lydia tore it open and ran over what he’d written. Stiles scribbled down some notes that made no sense in his book until Lydia passed the note back once more.

Under his ‘☒ yes, but no kitten just yet’, Lydia had added ‘you’re enough for now.’

* * *

For the rest of the week, Lydia and Stiles seemed to return to normal. When Lydia wasn’t studying for the competition with her teammates, they’d scroll through Pinterest for new communal space design ideas. Even though this was their last year of university, either of them had no intention of moving away from Boston after graduating. Just as Boston felt like a safe space to Stiles, it did to Lydia.

On the day of the competition, Stiles assisted Scott as he packed all of his belongings into two boxes and nudged him when he’d complain about having to throw something useless out. At half twelve, Stiles rushed down to his Jeep and drove to the university, picking up his order from a sushi restaurant on the way.

As Stiles reached the hallway Lydia had assigned as their meeting spot, a group of three students and some professors Stiles didn’t recognise stomped out of a room six doors down from him. A certain strawberry blonde remained frozen by the door as the rest rushed past Stiles. He walked towards her faster.

“How was it?” Stiles regretted asking as he spotted puddles slowly forming in Lydia’s eyes.

“I…” Lydia exhaled, shutting her eyes in hopes of hiding her tears. She slid down to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest. “I don’t want to talk. If I open my mouth, I might pass out.”

“I’ll talk. You eat,” ordered Stiles, passing her the box of sushi as he settled down beside Lydia a safe distance away. She took it unwillingly, wiping away her tears with her thumb. Stiles waited until she opened the box and separated the chopsticks.

“Scott’s all packed up, he should be on his way to your apartment now. Not that he had that much to pack, we spent half the time arguing over which pan he’d be stealing from me,” Stiles laughed, looking at Lydia for a reaction but she smiled humourlessly, picking up a piece of sushi and observing it as if it were poisonous. “Allison’s still struggling with your room, something about too many pairs of shoes. She sent me a picture and, Lydia, I think you might be one of those hoarders they make shows about. Anyway, Scott’s- Well,  _ your  _ new room looks so-”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Lydia cut him off, throwing the sushi aside and rising to her feet in a flash. Before Stiles processed what had happened, Lydia stormed into the direction Stiles had come from, heading for what he imagined would be the lady’s room. He shook his head helplessly, getting up and running after her. As Stiles reached the end of the hallway, he heard the door to the bathroom slam shut. He slowed down, checking for anyone around before slipping inside the room he was otherwise not allowed in.

After brushing off the initial surprise of how clean the bathroom smelled like compared to the men’s room, he stood by the door awkwardly, covering his eyes when a girl he’d seen walk out with Lydia left one of the stalls. He waited until he couldn’t hear the tap running anymore to move aside from the door and let her out.

“Lydia?” he asked cautiously, walking towards the stalls. “Where are you?”

She didn’t answer but a sniffle was all it took to locate her at the stall farthest from him. Stiles put his ear against the locked stall door, listening in but all he could hear were sniffles.

“You’re- Every-everyone’s-” Lydia stuttered on the other side, tearing pieces of toilet paper. “Everyone’s telling me I can do this. But I’m- I’m not sure I can. What if… What if I’m not enough? If I don’t win this, I’ll be forever stuck at that bar in that stupid uniform and I’ll watch all my dreams, all my work evaporate. This is my last year, my last  _ chance  _ at this competition. It’s now or never.”

Stiles exhaled, shutting his eyelids in exasperation; Lydia never expressed her emotions like this, not unless she was at a breaking point. Stiles was angry at himself for ever avoiding her when all she needed since the night she made it into the team was support.

“Look, Lydia,” he said quietly, hoping she could tell his words apart through her heaving. “I’ve known you for three months, three very life-changing months. I’ve seen you work your way through the night for the sole reason of you being passionate enough to put even more of these wonderful theories in your head. I’ve heard the excitement in your voice when you discuss the progress you’re making on your dissertation, which, I won’t lie, will change  _ lives _ . This is your life calling, this is what you’re meant to do. A spark like that doesn’t just disappear,” Stiles paused, catching his breath.

“For all your life, you will celebrate as many wins as you will mourn losses, but doesn’t mean you stop trying to get the first. Even if you miraculously scored last, it wouldn’t change anything about your dreams. You are more than capable of pursuing them and a single competition isn’t going to put a label on you. Your value remains the same despite the losses you undergo,” voiced Stiles. “You’re… You’re really something, Lydia. Someone who’s going to accomplish great things if only you start believing in yourself right this second.”

Within a couple of silent moments, Stiles heard the door of the stall unlock. He stepped aside as Lydia pushed the door open, standing still between the toilet and Stiles. She was no longer crying but her cheeks were wet with a mix of her makeup. She stared at him with big, wide eyes and pinched lips.

Stiles pulled out his hand nervously and Lydia accepted it in silence. He led her to the sinks, wetting bits of paper towels and cleaning the makeup stains off her cheeks. For the whole minute or so his fingers brushed against her face softly, Lydia stared at him in the same wonderstruck way without ever blinking.

“Let’s go,” said Stiles, throwing the paper towels inside the bin and nodding at the exit. They walked out in silence, Stiles first, and started heading back to the hallway. Stiles avoided looking at her but he listened in to ensure her heels were still clicking against the laminate behind him.

“You know, I’m not even sure the sushi’s that good. You’ve still got almost an hour until the second part of the competition and we could-”

Only Stiles couldn’t finish; Lydia grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to face her. Her eyes shut as she pulled into his chest on tiptoes, hugging him with her face buried in his shoulder.

“Thank you,” whispered Lydia, embracing him tighter. Stiles returned the gesture, running his hands across her back. As Lydia moved away with her arms still around his neck, she reached up to plant a lingering kiss on his cheek.

They drifted apart, both red-faced and flustered, and staggered back to the abandoned box of sushi. If Lydia weren’t glancing at him from time to time, Stiles was certain he would’ve brushed his cheek where Lydia had kissed it like a middle-schooler.

After Lydia emptied the box, offering a piece to Stiles that he kindly rejected, she placed her hand on the floor an inch from his almost as if taunting him. Minutes passed as Stiles ignored the urge to hold hers, cursing the electricity that radiated in the space between both.

When the rest of her teammates and the examiners arrived, Stiles was almost relieved to get up from the ground and put his hand to his side.

“Lydia,” called Stiles as Lydia joined them. She looked back at him curiously. “You’ve got this. And I’ll be cheering you on regardless of your score.”

“See you at the bar,” Lydia replied with a smile, disappearing behind the opened door. The girl he’d seen in the bathroom eyed him before following after Lydia.

“Your boyfriend’s so nice, mine didn’t even bother to wish me luck,” Stiles heard her tell Lydia as the door shut.

* * *

Surely, Lydia wasn’t exaggerating when she’d said her bar had gained a crowd of new customers. Everywhere he looked, groups of students laughed at the top of their lungs as they clinked their pints of beer, celebrating the last free weekend before they’d bury their noses in books to revise for the finals. Behind the counter two of Lydia’s colleagues were pacing back and forth, handing drinks to dozens of strangers. Stiles spotted his friends around his favourite table in the corner, noticing Scott eye the bartenders from the edge of his seat, as if he was prepared to jump up and help them at any moment.

“Stiles!” called Allison, waving at him as he approached the table. “Do you know? Lydia is refusing to tell me the results.”

Stiles chuckled as he sat down beside Kira, “Maybe.”

“She told you and not me?” asked Allison enviously. “But I’m her best friend!”

“Maybe you’re so important she wants to say it to your face,” Stiles shrugged, holding back a grin. Lydia had called him the second the results came in as she was catching a cab to the bar, babbling nonsense.

“Just tell us!” urged Malia, crossing her arms. Five pairs of eyes studied Stiles as they awaited an answer impatiently.

Stiles shook his head, “Keep it together, Lydia will be here any moment now.”

For the next half an hour, the six of them discussed their plans for the upcoming winter break and whether they should gather for New Year’s or Christmas. All conversation ceased, however, the moment a girl with snow-caught strawberry blonde locks turned up at their table, holding her hands together over her stomach as she eyed everyone around it, lingering her eyes on Stiles, who beamed at her.

“MIT’s team has won this competition 50 times,” said Lydia without a hello, looking down as she paused dramatically. Stiles swore he could hear everyone hold their breath. “I suppose I just helped them win it the 51st.”

Next thing Stiles knew, he was pushed up by the rest of his friends, cheering and congratulating Lydia as they all wrapped their arms around her in a group hug, squeezing a beaming Lydia. They didn’t mind or care about the rest of the bar pausing their conversation to watch them. Scott’s ‘I get to work here now!’ got lost between more cheers as they drifted apart, each hugging Lydia separately. When it was Stiles’ turn to embrace her, the pink in Lydia’s cold-caught cheeks changed to a flustered red and she opened her arms hesitantly.

“See?” Stiles whispered into her ear as he embraced her. “You did it.”

When they drifted apart, Lydia shuffled his hair before turning back to the group, “Everyone go grab a drink, it’s all on me tonight.”

Kira, Malia, Isaac, Scott and Allison headed for the bar, promising to bring back drinks for Lydia and Stiles (virgin for the latter as he’d arrived in his Jeep), who settled down at the table across from each other.

“What are you going to do with the money you won?” asked Stiles.

“Saving it up for future research. I’ve decided my monthly allowance can be enough to get by, I just need to cut back on buying new pairs of shoes,” Lydia joked. “How’s the moving going, anyway?”

“All your shoes have just been delivered to your new home by Stilinski Personal Deliveries,” said Stiles, thrusting his jaw forward.

Lydia rolled her eyes affectionately, “So I get to go there tonight?”

“If you want to brush your teeth, yes.”

They let the chatter of the bar surround them, looking at each other with downturned heads. Once again, Stiles felt the sharp tension that had formed between them after the night they fell asleep together.

“New home, huh?” Lydia broke their eye contact, putting her hand in a fist and hitting the wooden surface of the table with it mildly. “Can’t believe I’ll be forced to see you every day.”

Stiles chuckled nervously, “Good thing I’m never home then.”

“Never?”

“I’m spending all my time hanging out with you these days,” Stiles explained, smiling shyly.

Lydia scoffed, “Guess you won’t even have to leave our apartment then.”

Before Stiles could respond, their friends returned, some holding more than one drink, which they passed on to Lydia and Stiles. The seven of them continued making plans for the break, deciding on throwing Secret Santa at Lydia and Stiles’ apartment and playing their own version of _True American_ , the drinking game from _New Girl_ , for New Year’s.

By everyone’s fourth drink, Scott had borrowed the beret from Lydia’s - as of now - old uniform, faking a terrible French accent which Allison - of French background - taunted until he stopped. Isaac, Kira and Malia participated in a heated debate about the next presidential elections with a group of older men from the table next to theirs, speaking in alcohol-raised voices. Lydia sat next to Stiles, focusing and unfocusing her eyes on the drink in her hand with her head slightly moving.

“Maybe if I look at the glass long enough, it will refill magically,” Lydia explained, catching Stiles’ questioning gaze.

“Or I could just go get you another drink,” suggested Stiles. “Alcohol-free this time,” he uttered to himself, watching Lydia’s eyes widen at the offer as if it were impossible.

“You’d do that for me?”

Stiles chuckled, “I’d do anything for you.”

As Stiles rose to his feet, leaving Lydia behind to wonder, Scott copied his movements, following Stiles to the bar, “The flirting’s been off the charts tonight, Stiles.”

“No one’s flirting,” Stiles denied, raising his hand to catch the attention of one of the bartenders. “I’ll have a virgin Mojito, please.” The bartender nodded and turned around to make the drink until he was interrupted by another Mojito-desiring guy beside Stiles and Scott.

“Except for you and Lydia,” Scott argued. “‘I’d do anything for you’, what was  _ that  _ about?”

“We’re just joking around.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Are you ever planning on telling her you love her or am I cursed to watch you undress each other with your eyes for the rest of my life?”

Stiles gaped at him, “What do you mean ‘each other’?”

Scott shook his head, “Just tell her, man.”

Stiles stayed behind at the bar while Scott made his way back to the others. His gaze darted across the room as he thought back at everything he’d talked to Lydia about that night. They were  _ not _ flirting; this is how Stiles remembered the two of them talked like all the time.

But Scott was right. The time had come.

He picked up the glass the bartender had put on the counter and walked back towards the table determinately. Everyone but Lydia had scooted to one side of the table, continuing the political debate.

“Here’s your drink,” said Stiles, putting the glass in front of her as he sat beside her.

Lydia picked it up immediately, “Good, I’m so thirsty.”

Within seconds, she chugged down more than half the drink, squinting at the sugary taste. Stiles glanced over at the rest of his friends, all of whom completely unaware that Lydia and Stiles even existed. Clearing his throat, he faced Lydia, “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something import-”

Lydia shushed him, putting a finger over his lips lazily, “No, no,  _ I  _ wanted to talk to you.”

Stiles shuddered at the touch, biting his lip once Lydia removed her finger, “Fine. You first.”

Lydia exhaled loudly, putting her glass on the table which she continued holding onto for support, “I don’t think you understand how much what you told me earlier meant to me.” He smiled at her sadly. “And it’s not just that. At this very table, you convinced me to apply for the competition, something I wanted to do for the first two years of college but always chickened out of.”

Lydia reached for Stiles’ hand under the table and squeezed it without looking away from his eyes, “This wouldn’t be my last night here without you. You changed everything, Stiles.”

Stiles shrugged, “You always had it in you, you just needed a little nudge.”

Lydia quickly disconnected their hands as if his had caught on fire, “Why do you always do that?” she asked like he’d insulted her.

“Do what?”

“You never let me thank you. It’s like you’re scared to be appreciated by me,” Lydia declared. “Why?”

“Uh…”

Lydia waited for him to say something but all words seemed to leave Stiles’ mind. She let out a pronounced sigh, crushing the ice in her Mojito with a straw.

“It makes me feel like I can’t tell you how I feel. I know you’re over me now but it still hurts,” Lydia chuckled, leaning back against the cushion with the drink in her hand, her eyelids fluttering lazily. “You push me away each time I try to tell you how in love with you I am.”

All sound seemed to erase from the world around Stiles as Lydia uttered the confession so naturally, he couldn’t tell if she’d been serious. He watched the girl beside him with his mouth half-open as her eyes shut completely. Before Stiles realised what was happening, Lydia lost the clasp around her glass and it dropped to the ground, shattering into thousands of pieces from the impact. Their friends swung around to see where the noise had come from.

“Oh, this isn’t virgin,” Stiles sighed out, catching the strong smell from the poured-out drink as he picked up the bigger pieces of glass.

“Is she alright?” asked Allison, her voice filling with worry as she studied the almost passed-out Lydia.

Stiles nodded, putting the pieces on the table. “She just needs some sleep, I should take her home,” he looked at each of his staring friends. “How about you guys, want to go back together?”

“You go ahead,” said Isaac, turning back to the guys.

“I should clean up after,” said Scott apologetically. “First duty as the new bartender.”

Stiles turned back to Lydia, patting her shoulder, “Come on, Lyds, let’s get you home.”

After some minutes of struggling, Stiles managed to take Lydia to his Jeep and buckle her up in the passenger’s seat. For the whole hour ride to their apartment, falling snowflakes compromised his sight of the road. Lydia never fully fell asleep, just babbled nonsense at every radio station she switched on before moving on to the next. Stiles never said anything, replaying Lydia’s last coherent words in his mind.

She was in love with him.

Stiles half-carried Lydia up the stairs to their apartment, holding his arm around her waist, and the moment the door behind them clicked shut, Lydia seemed to gain consciousness. She stumbled inside the bathroom, heading for the toilet head-first and, thankfully, Stiles made it just in time to hold all her hair up as she retched. When all of the drinks she’d consumed had left her system, Stiles helped her up and rinsed her mouth with a mix of water and toothpaste. Lydia no longer swayed in the air but her eyes were puffy from exhaustion. Stiles let her freshen up as he ambled to the kitchen for a glass of water.

He entered Lydia’s new room which, up until today, he recognised as Scott’s, almost tripping over one of the boxes on his way to put the glass on the nightstand. He turned on the desk lamp, examining the empty shelves that awaited their new owner and only then realised that inside all these boxes were all of Lydia’s belongings. He hadn’t just taken a friend to his place to help her sober up and get a good night's sleep. She  _ lived  _ here now.

Hesitantly, he walked out of her room and into his, changing into the t-shirt and shorts he wore to sleep despite having no intention of going to bed anytime soon. He stumbled towards his window, staring at the falling snowflakes wistfully before shutting the blinds.

“Stiles.”

He swung around. Lydia was standing in his doorway, her shape illuminated by the warm light from behind her. She was wearing different clothes too.

“Go to sleep, Lyds. I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” said Stiles hoarsely, approaching the door without looking at her.

“No,” said Lydia seriously, blocking the exit by putting her arm against the wall where Stiles tried to squeeze through. “Don’t run away from me again. Stay here.”

Stiles stopped a foot away from her, exhaling, “You’re drunk. If you want to say something, wait until the morning, for your own good.”

“Not anymore,” said Lydia truthfully. “What are you afraid of? I won’t ever say it again if that’s what you want.”

“That’s not it.”

“What is it then?”

Stiles watched as she crossed her arms, giving Stiles the room to escape. Technically, he had every chance to run for it, run from confrontation. But it was time to face the truth.

He walked backwards to the edge of his bed and flumped down, connecting his hands over his thighs. Lydia didn’t move.

“What in the world made you think I’m over you?” asked Stiles exasperatingly, studying his hands.

Stiles heard Lydia approach him and felt the mattress move. He wanted to look at her but he didn’t have the guts to.

“You've been acting differently,” said Lydia in almost a whisper. “You never look at me anymore. You’re always somewhere else when we’re together. You avoided me for a  _ month _ .”

Stiles scoffed, “I was just trying to give you some space.”

“Why?”

Finally, Stiles faced her. Lydia studied his face intently, never looking away. Time had come to stop being afraid to look back at her.

“I heard you that day,” he said. “I heard you tell Allison you would never be interested in me.”

“Oh, no. No, that was…” Lydia frowned, shaking her head. “I only said it because I was scared of how quickly you were becoming so close to me. I don’t let people get close to me at all. I am  _ so  _ afraid of loving someone, but even more so of losing them. I mess up all the time, Stiles. Everything I get attached to ends up falling apart. I didn’t want to break you too.”

“You could never break me.”

“Then you don’t know me at all.”

“I  _ want _ to know you,” Stiles protested, feeling his heart sink in his chest. “I want to know everything that has ever happened to you that makes you think that way. I’m not afraid of you and I’m not afraid of the truth. I don’t think anything you’d say would make me love you less.”

Lydia shuffled in her seat, scooting closer to him.

“You love me,” she whispered.

“Of course I love you,” said Stiles, almost offended. “Probably since the beginning, even when I didn’t know who you really were.” Lydia bit her lip, looking down. “Even despite that beret.”

Lydia chuckled nervously, reconnecting their eyes, “Can’t believe I never have to wear it again.”

“If you ever miss it, just ask Scott,” reminded Stiles.

They both laughed now, whether from exhaustion or the tension built up to the point neither of them could think coherently anymore.

“You’re really something, Stiles,” Lydia repeated his words from earlier, exposing her brightest smile.

“Good or bad something?”

Lydia thought for a moment, “Something unexpected.”

“Is that a yes?”

“To what question?”

Stiles froze with his mouth hanging open. He had to rid himself of the fear that followed him when it came to the girl inches away from his face, examining every movement of his face as he had hers many times before. Stiles reached for her hands, holding each in his and fondling them with his thumbs.

“Will you let me love you?”

“If you let me love you, too.”

Stiles pursed his lips, moving to fully face Lydia, “Is this the part where we say ‘good night’?”

“What?”

Stiles chuckled nervously, “Like Nick and Jess in that episode we watched. You said Nick fell in love with Jess the first time he saw her but it took longer for Jess. That’s us, isn’t it? I’m Nick. You’re Jess.”

Lydia pressed her lips together, restraining herself from a smile. She looked down at their interlaced fingers and squeezed them once again before boring her eyes into Stiles’.

“Good night, Stiles.”

“Good night.”

Stiles leaned in close to her face, so close he could feel her breath on his lips. They stayed this way, less than an inch apart, both afraid to cross whatever boundaries they’d set in their minds.

“Kiss me,” said Lydia.

So he did, tasting every forbidden taste on her lips until it no longer felt that way. He moved his lips against hers until they moved in sync. He kissed her lips until their bodies intertwined.

He loved her for as long as she loved him - an eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed this! it was quite strange writing about a non-supernatural universe but it was just as fun as writing all my other stydia one shots :')
> 
> this is based on a prompt by @stydia24r left on one of my past one shots:
> 
> 'stiles falls for lydia right away when they meet through scott and allison. everyone knows including lydia and she is immediately in denial while everyone pushes them together. except stiles who is being really respectful. lydia and stiles are hanging out more and one day before she and stiles are hanging out, he overhears alison and lydia talking, when lydia says that she is just not interested in stiles cause she is in denial. he is really hurt but just pretends he didn't hear and over time lydia falls for him harder and always has a soft spot for him, while she thinks he is over her cause he is trying to be super respectful, until she gets drunk and she finally confesses.
> 
> as always, i appreciate every comment, kudos and hit so please interact so i feel like the days i spend writing each one shot are worth it! as much as i enjoy writing, feedback is very important to me.
> 
> \- dylan,  
> @FORLYDIA on twitter


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